CHAPTER 96: BURDENED BY LEGACY

CHAPTER 96: BURDENED BY LEGACY
LUCA

My lungs burn. My heart rate won’t slow down. 

We take turns leading each other through the city. Sometimes I’m pulling Kristian, and other times he’s pulling me.

Wind rushes past our ears. Masks half-askew, we dodge around parked Vespas and a fruit stand abandoned by a startled vendor.

We’re not running from the cops anymore. 

I think we’re just…running.

Enjoying the wind on our faces, the weird looks people are giving us, the anonymity of our masks—the freedom.

Somehow, it’s even better than the first night when we were running through the city of Stockholm.

Kristian is no longer a beautiful stranger, and the endless possibilities suddenly seem finite.

Right now, he’s leading us, holding my hand, dragging me through a crooked alley. We burst out into an empty square. The streetlights are dim. The windows around us are dark. It feels like the whole world forgot this place exists.

We stop in the middle, gasping, laughing. I bend over, hands on my knees. “We’re insane.”

Kristian laughs beside me, his chest rising fast. “Speak for yourself. I’m royalty. I don’t do crazy.”

“Fuck,” I pant. “That was—” I look at him, unable to believe what just happened. “What the fuck, Kristian?”

“He deserved it,” he says unapologetically. 

“He did.”

Kristian grins, mask half hanging off his ear. His dark blond hair is tousled, the corner of his lip still red from the scuffle. 

Kristian. The fucking Crown Prince of Sweden threw the first punch. 

I can’t believe he’s the same man I met at the conference a month ago. The same man who pretended not to know me and told his mother that he couldn’t be friends with someone like me.

The same man who called me thoughtless and told me that I do things without thinking of the consequences.

There’s a smear of dirt on his cheek. Somehow, it makes him look more real. Less like the polished prince the world knows and more like the boy who just kissed me in a Roman alleyway and didn’t flinch when the world turned ugly.

“You have something…” I say and reach out to clean the dirt on his face. His cheeks heat up, and he looks away. 

We stand in the quiet, the cool stone under our feet, the scent of pizza and exhaust clinging faintly to the night. Then, after a few seconds, Kristian reaches out and touches my face with a soft thumb.

“You have something…”

I lean into his hand. I don’t mean to—it just happens. His touch is warm, careful. I hate how much I crave it.

“Are you sure there’s something there?” I ask in a half-teasing voice. 

“What do you think?”

“I think you just want to touch me.”

He smiles and slowly leans in. “You’re not wrong, Luca.”

His lips brush mine ever so lightly as his gaze locks on mine. 

We kiss again—slowly this time. No rush. No panic. No anger. Just two mouths and the heaviness we’ve been carrying.

But I pull away. My heart thuds for a different reason now. “We can’t keep doing this.”

Kristian doesn’t let go of me. “Then tell me to stop.”

I want to say it. But I don’t.

I can’t.

Instead, I crash into him again.

He pulls me close, our bodies pressed together in the middle of the forgotten square. I don’t care about anything else—not the party we left behind, or the fight we started, or the fact that my mother would probably disown me if she saw me right now.

All that matters in this moment is my need to feel him.

Suddenly, Kristian yelps and jumps back. “Fan!”

I stumble, confused—until I see him viciously slapping his leg.

“There was something—some demon with wings—”

I burst out laughing. “It was probably just a harmless moth.”

“That thing had intentions, Luca.”

“You just took out a grown man in a fistfight but you’re freaking out over a moth?”

He narrows his eyes at me, but his lips twitch. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

I smirk. “A little.”

We both sit down on the edge of the old fountain at the center of the square. The stone is cracked, the water long dried up. Above us, the stars peek between rooftops. Somewhere, a Vespa rumbles down another street.

Kristian’s voice breaks the quiet. “What are you afraid of?”

I look at him. “Moths?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on. Answer the question.”

I think for a second. Then I answer, “Losing myself.”

He glances at me.

I keep going. “When I was younger, I thought I had to be all things at once. Italian, Catholic, straight-acting, obedient. I tried to shape myself around what people expected. I thought if I kept giving them pieces of me, they’d eventually be satisfied.”

“Were they?”

I shake my head. “No. And by the time I realized it, I couldn’t remember who I really was underneath all the masks. That’s my biggest fear. That I’m still performing, that even now, I’m not really free.”

Kristian nods slowly. “You are. At least with me, you are.”

I want to believe him.

“What about you?” I ask.

He exhales. “Being unworthy.”

That surprises me.

He shifts, voice lower. “I’m supposed to be this symbol—Light of Northern Europe.” He scoffs, just slightly bitter. “I wear a uniform that doesn’t always fit. Every step I take is watched. One wrong breath, and the tabloids riot. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be perfect and sometimes… I’m terrified I don’t know who I am without the crown.”

I say nothing. Just listen.

“When I was twelve,” he continues, “I asked my mother why we weren’t allowed to cry in public. She said it wasn’t about emotion—it was about image. That a prince’s tears belong in private.”

“That’s not fair,” I whisper.

He shrugs. “It’s the job.”

We sit in silence, and then, he whispers. “I’m sorry if I…” He sighs. “I don’t mean to confuse you or burden you with my feelings. It’s just…easier to know what I want, away from the weight of everything.”

I reach out, not having to look to find his hand. I pull him to me, and he moves effortlessly, seamlessly, like we’ve been doing this our whole lives.

The kiss is soft, lingering. No pressure. Just lips and breath and the quiet space between boys burdened by legacy, carving out space to simply…be.

Eventually, I pull back with a sigh. “We really should head back.”

Kristian groans. “Giovanni and Henrik are going to flay us.”

“I think Henrik’s too repressed to flay.”

He laughs. “Fair.”

I straighten my blazer and brush the dust off. Kristian stands beside me, hair a mess, lips still parted.

He looks at me, careful, cautious. “What did tonight mean for us?”

My throat tightens, and I think for a long moment. The answer eludes me, like a piece of treasure buried deep, deep beyond my reach.

"I...don't know."